


Reveries

by MagnoliaDoll



Series: Original Works [1]
Category: Original Fiction - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Author is a Hopeless Romantic, Black Female Character, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, F/F, Hispanic Female Character - Freeform, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Character of Color, Love, Melancholy, POC Lesbian Love, POC Love, PoC, Un-named Characters - Freeform, unattainable love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10144559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnoliaDoll/pseuds/MagnoliaDoll
Summary: What's worse than loving someone you know doesn't love you back, loving someone when you aren't sure they love you tooAn original short story about unattainable dreams and faraway lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to take a little break from fan works to dedicate some time to a story that has been haunting me for a while, thank you for giving this a chance (if you decide to) because it's a story fairly close to my heart.

      I think I’m in love.

      I know I’m in love.

      I’m always thinking about her.

      But we’ve never met.

      I don’t mind though,

      because I dream about her almost every night.

      I couldn’t tell you when this started, it feels I’ve known her my entire life and it feels like I know more abut her than I should. Sometimes I feel voyeuristic, but most times things are innocent I dream about our life together. At least I hope it’s our life together, I’ve never actually seen my own face in the dreams mostly just her. Waking up in the morning to her. Going on trips with her. The feeling of being around her was comforting, it didn’t feel heavy and warm like the books say it should it’s more like being bathed in white lights and wading in a cool lake on a summers day.

      I don’t know her name.

      I’ve tried to place a name with her several times.

      Rosie.

      Andrea.

      Harper.

      Penelope

      Too feminine and unrealistic.

      Danni.

      Alex.

      Max.

      Chris.

      Nothing fit her face.

      It’s frustrating, to know her so well but not know her name.

      I could tell you anything about her if you asked.

      She’s older than me, but not by much and doesn’t like to be reminded of it.

      She’s taller than me by a couple inches and likes to flaunt it.

      Slim and pretty with freckles showering her tan skin all down her face, shoulders, and back.

      Her Spanish isn’t as good as her or her mother would like, but she doesn’t make any efforts to improve.

      She prefers long baths over showers and had a hard time living in dorms because of this.

      She likes to smell fresh rather than sweet so she avoids perfumes and scented soaps, whenever she accidently uses one of my soaps she complains about their flowery scent and likens me to a child.

      Her clothes aren’t flashy, but they are fashionable.

      She has this long black coat made of wool, I think, and I hate the feel of it on my skin when I hold onto her arm. It’s rough and itchy and whenever I see her pull it out of the closet I whine a little in opposition.

      We talk about that coat a lot.

      No matter how many times I ask her to buy a new one she insists the one she has can never be beaten. I think one time I even offered to buy her two new coats if she wouldn’t wear the wool one anymore, but she just squished my cheeks and gave me a peck on the lips to shut me up.

      She does that a lot.

      It’s very effective.

      I like to run my hands through her hair.

      She doesn’t really enjoy it, but she lets me for the most part.

      Her hair is parted on the left and flows over her right shoulder most days, its brown and wavy and she pins the left side back behind her ear. I would say it’s always flowing smoothly like molten chocolate past her shoulders, but I’ve seen her hair greasy and unwashed when she feels lazy; I’ve seen it tangled and wild in the mornings. Mornings are quiet because she usually wakes up before me with a headache from staying up so late the night before, I don’t mind the quiet is good for reflection and I get to stare at her as she gets ready for the day from my spot on the bed.

       She likes to sleep on her back with her arms and legs spread out around her as I try my best to nuzzle into her side. She wears a stone necklace even in her sleep, I think because the clasp is too small and hard to take off. One day after my dream I ordered one to match, mines is a Blue Sandstone it’s supposed to help with building and maintaining relationships as well as keep me grounded and reaching towards success. After a bit of research, I found hers to be a Tiger Eye, meant for protection and improving determination and creativity; to bring order in the midst of chaos.

      I like to think that’s what she does for me, bring order after a day of chaos which is how most of my days go.

      Sometimes I wonder if she’s real.

      Sometimes I forget she’s fake.

      It’s better this way though,

      I don’t know how I’d feel knowing she’s real and knowing she probably doesn’t love me back.

                            __________________________________________

      I keep dreaming of this girl, and I don’t really know what to think.

      She’s a bit brash and a bit loud.

      Immensely silly and jovial.

      I don’t know where she came from.

      But I don’t mind her.

      I think I might like her.

      Whenever I wake up I feel like I always lose a part of her in the process, I know what she looks like and I know what she sounds like but I can never remember too many details about her preferences.

      Stories.

      Recollections of our time together, memories of her antics.

      Underwear.

      She dances around the kitchen in her underwear when she’s cleaning or cooking breakfast on weekends. I remember one time I rolled out of bed late, which is very unusual for me, and walked around in a daze for a bit while a vaguely stereotypical Broadway song rang through the apartment. Curiously, I walked around to the kitchen to see her there clad in tank top and boy shorts doing some kind of faux choreography as she half wipes down the countertops. It was actually really cute.

      She’s a curvy little thing, and she’s really proud of her ass and thighs.

      She’s actually not all that short now that I think about it.

      I feel like she wears a lot of pink and a lot of workout clothes, but I’ll always remember how hard it is to actually drag her to the gym. She locked me out of my car one time as revenge for waking her up before 10:30 on a Saturday and tricking her into coming to the gym with me. She threatened to drive away so I sat on the hood of the car in protest. She backed up anyway, only a little and I wasn’t holding on too tight so I sild off the hood onto the pavement with a loud thud as my shoulder made impact. She parked the car and rushed out in tears to my side, near hysterics trying to apologize but just sounding like gibberish. Eventually she got me off the ground and drive me to the ER as tears rolled down her face, I don’t know why but I couldn’t talk to her. I just let her sit there mulling in self-hate and regret, I can’t believe I did that and to this day I wish I had comforted her in the moment.

      It didn’t actually happen though.

I always have to remind myself of this.

      I have nothing to regret.

      Regret.

      She regretted cutting off all her hair for a while, she referred to it as ‘the big chop’ because she had decided to go natural. I never really knew what that entailed, but she was conflicted about going through with it for weeks before caving and finally just taking the plunge.  She came home in tears and laid in bed for a good half hour telling me she would be fine before I decided to do my duty and check on her.  She was lying in the dark with the comforter pulled around her like a cocoon, I sat on her legs until she unwrapped herself in a huff. She’s sensitive about stuff like that.

      Her hair.

      Her makeup.

      Her body.

      One time we were on a stone beach of some kind, I don’t know where or why but I remember vividly picking pebbles out of my shoes and bag for weeks after. She didn’t like the beach; she didn’t like any beaches. But she came with me anyway, she didn’t want to wear a swimsuit and every time a girl in a bikini would walk past us I noticed her curl into herself bit by bit putting her knees up to her chest. After a while of her fidgeting I put down my book and grabbed her by the wrist into the nearest shop on the beaches strip. She meekly scolded me for abandoning our stuff and worried about its safety, but that didn’t stop me. We trekked pat the cashier and confused sales staff to the mirrors in the back and I held her in front of one. I don’t know what I said, but I remember holding her by the waist and speaking directly into her ear as she blushed frightfully at my words.

      It must have been pretty smooth.

      I wish I was that smooth in real life.

      Sometimes we don’t have adventures, sometimes I dream about us lying around our apartment. Our apartment is weird to say, but the idea of it is comforting and being there in my dreams triggers more memories with her. I recall spending several hours picking out miniature cacti for around the living room and bedroom. Going back and forth between succulent plant and actual cactus, debating planting pot designs and shapes, and eventually me questioning the importance of such detailed plant selection. 

      Boy, did I get a long lecture that time.

      It was worth it to see so much passion in her eyes as she went on and on about what the plant could bring into one’s home.

      Home.

      She called it our home, I took pause at that before grasping her by her cheeks and pulling her into a deep kiss. When we pulled away she looked a bit frazzled, had this dumb look on her face that she gets whenever she’s caught off guard or thinking too hard. She whispered my name and I…I don’t know hers.

      I couldn’t tell you her name.

      I wish I could.

      I wish I could remember more than just snippets of time.

      I’ve resigned myself to believe these are just dreams.

      She doesn’t exist.

      And I’m okay with that.

      For the most part.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan on splitting my time from here on out with fan work and original writings, to try and keep up to date with what I'm writing you can follow me here or:
> 
> Twitter: @emeraldtheivery  
> Tumblr: magnoliadoll
> 
> Thank you again for giving my little sapphic musings a shot!


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